The Omega People
by Harold3456
Summary: The Suicide Mission is complete, but now the damaged Normandy is trapped in Omega-4 space, drifting in an isolated system. When the crew meddles with technology that they can't begin to understand, people start acting strangely. Crewmen start turning on each other. Does Shepard have what it takes to regain their loyalty? Or will the squad devolve into anarchy?
1. The Suicide Mission

"I made you, Shepard! I brought you back from the dead!"

"And I'm going to do what you brought me back to do. I'll fight and win this war without compromising the soul of our species."

Commander Shepard paced in front of the small hologram of the Illusive Man. Shepard stood on a large, hexagonal platform suspended in the middle of an enormous, yawning chamber in the Collector Base, the ultimate fate of which now hinged on this conversation. True to form, the Illusive Man had seen an opportunity even now, in this eleventh hour, to squeeze an opportunity for humanity's galactic dominance out of this gruelling, desperate mission. It wasn't enough that Shepard – and his team – had just neutralized the greatest threat currently facing the human colonies. Now Cerberus wanted to control it and weaponize it.

"Don't let your emotions get in the way of our future!" The Illusive Man derided, his voice tinted with the usual degree of scorn. "You know better than anyone how real the Reaper threat is. Humanity is going to need every advantage it can get!"

"Think about it, Shepard!" Miranda broke in, putting her hand on his shoulder. "A base like this can put us on a level with the Reapers! We could use it to fight them! It could be our best chance for victory."

Shepard looked over at his two teammates, standing beside him on the suspended platform. Miranda, her normally flawless face coated in the blood of multiple species, had a pensive expression as she awaited his response. Jacob's face was stoic as always, betraying neither emotion nor opinion for the arguments being presented. He simply held his shotgun, ready for the next order. He was a good soldier, and he would do what he was told. _But whom does he take orders from, if push comes to shove?_ Shepard thought. _His commander, who has led him into the mouth of hell itself, and plans to see him back out of it? Or the man who pays him?_ At the beginning of this mission he felt like he trusted both of them implicitly – he had helped them to solve deeply personal family issues, and in doing so he had managed to chip into their cold, guarded psyches – considerably deeper into Miranda's than Jacob's. Because of this, both soldiers now wore Shepard's colours, in contrast to the Cerberus uniforms they wore when he'd met them. _But it doesn't matter what colours they wear on their uniforms, does it? They're my crew, but HIS employees._

He felt extremely exposed, with two devoted Cerberus agents watching his back. He wondered what he had been thinking, bringing them both along – he supposed that it was a small flight of fancy: finishing the adventure alongside those with whom he started it. It was poetic, in a way. Or at least it could be, so long as he didn't end up with a machinegun volley in his back.

Swallowing his doubts, Shepard turned his back on Miranda again, to look straight at the hologram of the Illusive Man. "The answer is no. I'm not trusting something of this magnitude to you, or to Cerberus. Humanity won't be safe until this abomination is destroyed. EDI! Arm the bomb!"

"May I present an additional alternative, Commander?" EDI's voice asked, as the computer's undulating blue globe appeared on the hologram beside the Illusive Man. "I have done a software scan on the Reaper base, and I've been able to copy all of its blueprints and information into data form! With this software, the base may be eventually replicated, but from the ground up – scientists will be given the chance to study this technology before they expose themselves to it."

"We don't have time for that!" The Illusive Man counselled. "The Reapers will be here sooner rather than later!"

"Thank you, EDI." Shepard said. "Where could I get this data from?"

"It is still stored in the Collector terminals, Commander. You can access it from this very platform, if you so choose. Though it might be faster for me to upload it directly through the ship computer."

"No!" Shepard ordered. "I'll download the schematics, but I don't want them anywhere near Cerberus software! I'll download them onto my own personal Omni-tool."

"As you wish, Commander!" The blue orb disappeared into nothingness, denoting EDI's departure from the conversation.

"Reconsider this position, Shepard." The Illusive Man instructed. "What are you going to do with this information? Give it to the Systems Alliance? The _Council_? You saw how they both treated the Sovereign threat! Cerberus _acts_, Shepard, and action is what this galaxy needs right now!"

It was a good argument – the Illusive Man had an uncanny way of saying exactly what his subjects needed to hear. But even in the face of total exhaustion, with his battle armour smouldering from a dozen punctures and every muscle and joint in his body screaming in agony, Shepard wouldn't allow himself to be coerced.

"I think I'll hang onto it myself for awhile." Shepard replied. The platform upon which they all stood had a single podium on one end of it – a control panel of sorts, with an ancient computer interface scrawled upon it. From his mission on the ruined Collectors ship, he knew that this computer was networked to the entire base. He crossed the platform to the computer, meeting Miranda's eyes as he walked past her. She shook her head, almost imperceptibly. In response, Shepard's lip curled in the most subtle of smiles. He linked his Omni-tool into the computer, initiating the download. The positioning required him to still have his back to his teammates, but it was a risk he was willing to take. Though theirs was the loyalty he had the most reason to doubt, he was still willing to trust them.

"Damn it, Shepard." The Illusive Man cried after him. "You're forcing my hand, here! Lawson, Taylor – get that Omni-tool AT ANY COST. Kill him if you have to!"

The silence following that order was palpable, broken only by the shifting of feet as both teammates turned toward Shepard's broad, exposed back. He heard no weapons being drawn, but that didn't mean anything – Jacob had never put his shotgun away after the last firefight, and Miranda was a powerful biotic. Both of them were highly trained operatives, and their skills had sharpened dramatically during their time aboard the Normandy. Shepard was unarmed. There was no hypothetical scenario where he came out of this fight victorious.

"He'll bring about the end of the civilized galaxy as we know it if we don't intervene." The Illusive Man continued, trying to spur one of the two Cerberus agents into action. "Miranda! This is a direct order!"

Shepard turned to look at the duo with whom he shared the platform. Jacob hadn't moved from his spot. He turned to gaze at Miranda. Shepard couldn't read Jacob's expression, but clearly it conveyed something to the female operative, because Miranda nodded to him and crossed the room to the hologram. "Consider this my resignation." She told it.

The look of shock on the Illusive Man's face was unprecedented. He exploded out of his chair. "Miranda, don't forget what I did for-" Miranda cut the transmission. The three humans on the platform were quiet for a minute, and the enormous cavern within which they hovered eerily echoed that silence, reminding Shepard just how big, how advanced, this base was.

The surroundings were completely alien, resembling a giant hive more than anything else Shepard could use as a comparison. The great chamber was wide, and cold, despite a total lack of wind. It was also extremely exposed. At any moment, Shepard expected more flying platforms to glide over to their position, attaching themselves to Shepard's own platform like some giant puzzle, while Collector foot soldiers fired upon the trio. He had just endured a very similar firefight, and his platform was already beset by about six others, all latched on like parasites, creating a small network of hexagonal vessels.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Shepard said finally. His Omni-tool finished downloading with a beep, and he stepped away from the console. "I agree that this base is a powerful weapon that can be used for the benefit of the entire galaxy!" He tapped his Omni-tool, "But in order for that to happen, this information will be used on _my_ terms! I will have total authority over the data held in this Omni-tool, and it will only be under my discretion that it be imparted to anyone else, be it the Alliance, the Citadel _or_, dare I say it, Cerberus! Understood?"

"Aye aye, Commander."

"Yes, Shepard."

"Good, then let's activate this bomb and go find the others!"

Miranda handed Shepard a small disc, showing only the most minute of hesitations as she relinquished it. Shepard grabbed the disc and uploaded the explosive virus into the computer. "Let's go," he said, "we have about ten minutes before this whole base gets blown to hell! Call Garrus."

Miranda brought her hand up to the headset she wore. "Vakarian, do you read? Pack up and move out! Ten minutes to detonation!"

"Ten minutes?" Garrus' voice cried from the other end, over the din of battle. "This is the geth base all over again! What's with the arbitrary time limits?"

Shepard ignored the quip, instead pointing across the cavern they were in, at a small cave mouth. "Miranda, steer us through there! That should take us around to our ship! We'll meet up with the others, and-"

The air was suddenly pierced by a deafening, electronic wail that seemed to shake the entire cavern, and made Shepard grab his own head in agony. A second later, a giant, skeletal metal hand grabbed the edge of the platform; jagged, razor sharp fingers crushing the tiling of the small platform only a couple feet away from where Jacob stood. The young man cried out and jumped away, scrabbling across the floor as a second hand grabbed the platform as well.

"Shit! That thing is still alive!" Jacob cried, and at that moment two massive eyes cleared the platform, seeming to glare directly at Shepard. He was momentarily immobilized by fear, as the words of Sovereign entered his mind: _"We are eternal, the pinnacle of evolution and existence. Before us, you are nothing. Your extinction is inevitable. We are the end of everything."_ Awe overwhelmed his mind, as it always did when he looked upon these Reapers – even this particular Reaper, a child by the standards of its species, commanded a level of nigh-incomprehensible advancement, along with its characteristic contempt for humankind.

Shepard swallowed this crippling emotion, however, as he had done numerous times before – with Sovereign, and with the Thorian, another ageless horror that had claimed to be undefeatable. Both of them were now dead, by his hand. So he reached back, and grabbed the Collector particle beam that he had slung across his back. "Miranda, hit it with a Warp!" He ordered, finding his voice. "Jacob, use everything you've got!"

The thing roared in response, a battle cry that at point blank range overwhelmed Shepard's auditory senses and engulfed all three humans in complete deafness. Miranda's concentration couldn't be broken, however, and the skilled biotic still managed to release a powerful warp that struck the thing in its face, driving it back. Shepard let loose with his particle beam, showering the creature with firepower. Jacob, beside him, launched volley after volley with his shotgun and, when that overheated, with his pistol.

The human Reaper seemed to stumble under the barrage, and almost lost its grip. It pulled itself back up, farther onto the platform this time, exposing its half-completed chest. Shepard pulled out his assault rifle and fired. The armour on the chest, already damaged from the barrage of damage it must have taken in its initial fall, exploded into pieces. The creature shrieked again, although this time Shepard couldn't hear it. He couldn't hear anything past the ringing in his ears.

The human Reaper slid off the platform, until it hung on only by its two hands. Jacob ran up to one of the hands, and unloaded all of his weapons in it, shredding metal fingers and flaying the thing's palm until it had no choice but to relinquish its grip. Holding on by only one hand put too much weight on the platform, however, and it began tipping precariously. "Shit!" Shepard cried. "Grab onto something!"

Then the platform was falling. The Reaper relinquished its grasp, disappearing into the cavernous depths of the chamber, but the damage was already done. The platform was plummeting. Miranda diligently manned the platform's controls, struggling to prevent the three of them from meeting the monster's fate as she steered the doomed vessel toward the cave opening he had pointed out before.

"We're not gonna make it!" Jacob cried, clinging to a small podium that had previously been used as cover as the platform continued to tip, its grade growing steeper and steeper. The young man's feet lost their purchase and slipped, and he reactively tightened his grip. Miranda was also having increasingly greater trouble keeping herself steady, though she kept at the controls all the same. The platform tilted in Miranda's direction, so that she was at the bottom of the wide, compound vessel. Shepard half-jumped, half-slid down the now almost vertical platform, landing on the opposite side of the control panel, and grabbed Miranda's hand as her stubborn soles finally relinquished their grip and almost sent her plummeting into the darkness, the final victim of the human Reaper.

The platform was now completely vertical, and gaining speed as it careened toward the cave mouth. Shepard knew that this cave led straight to the hangar entrance where the Normandy had crash landed. Still, the trio were not out of danger. He looked down at Miranda, saw the beautiful woman's face etched with lines of fear and desperation as she hung suspended in mid-air, over a chasm of blackness. Shepard held her wrist in both of his hands. He wanted to pull her up, but he was already lying across the entire podium. There was no more room. So he just continued hanging on, drawing on his final reserves of strength as his spent and battered body protested.

The platform crashed into the floor of the cave, and split into pieces. All three squadmates were thrown violently to the floor of the cave, along with most of the debris. Shepard lay there, on his back, for almost a full minute, as the remainder of the platform crashed its way into the bowels of the base. Everything else was quiet, except for the persistent ringing in his ears from the Reaper's shrill cry. Then he heard EDI's voice in his speaker: "Five minutes to detonation."

"Shepard," It was Miranda, standing above him, offering a hand. "Come on, Commander, get up!"

He took the proffered hand and let himself get pulled to his feet. "You're alright?" He asked her.

She took a tentative step, testing her legs. They were clearly sore, but manageable. Then she saw past the commander, at their third team member. "Oh, my God! Jacob!"

Shepard spun around to regard the young man. Jacob had managed to pull himself into a seated position, his back against a large piece of debris. He had a hand pressed up against his side, through which a jagged piece of piping had pierced, and out of which it now jutted.

"Hell of a landing, Miranda." Jacob joked, weakly.

"Jacob! Come on, get up!" Shepard ran to the man's side, reaching out to help him to his feet.

"Not this time, Commander." The soldier replied. They heard footsteps in the distance – Collector troops were approaching. "You know I'd just slow you down. Let me hold them off for you!"

Shepard closed his eyes, stifling the urge to scream in frustration. Akuze, Virmire... it seemed that every time he attempted to do the impossible, and every time a glimmer of hope was starting to reveal itself, then fate would come back around – save your friend, or complete the mission? He thought of Kaidan Alenko, abandoned at Virmire so Shepard could babysit the bomb that would eventually neutralize the krogan facility. Then, days later, he had sacrificed the Destiny Ascension, enormous flagship of the Citadel – along with the thousands of lives on board – in order to assure an Alliance victory."Four minutes, Commander." EDI warned.

Jacob grunted, and then saluted. "It's been an honour, sir. Hell of a fight!"

But Shepard refused to turn away from the young soldier. This was different. This was not Akuze, not Virmire. The bomb had already been placed, and this base was going to blow whether Shepard made it off alive or not. He would be the last person off the battlefield... if he made it off at all.

"Not today, Jacob." He finally said. "Now hold on, this is gonna hurt a lot!" Shepard grabbed the man's hand, pulling him to his feet. Jacob screamed as his gruesome injury was aggravated. There was a loud, gut-wrenching sucking sound as Jacob's loose, tattered flesh broke off of the girder, unstuck from the drying blood which adhered it. Now Jacob bled freely from a hole about the size of a human fist, its edges jagged. Jacob didn't complain, however. Instead, he put one tentative foot in front of the other, his eyes looking down the tunnel toward their eventual salvation.

The trio hurried down the tunnel, Miranda limping slightly, Jacob far more noticeably. They heard footsteps behind far behind them – Collector soldiers, undoubtedly gaining on them. Shepard reached the end of the tunnel first, and that's where he caught sight of the Normandy LZ. The ship was hovering just at the other end of a wide open hangar. A small platoon of Collectors was entering the hangar from another entrance to their left. Shepard opened fire on them with his assault rifle, felling one before the others got a chance to take cover.

"Three minutes to detonation, Commander."

"Come on, Shepard!" Joker's voice cut in. "Where are you guys? I'd prefer to be off this rock _before _the explosion!"

Shepard traded fire with the Collectors, but they had him pinned down in the cave entrance, and now a couple were crossing the hangar to overtake him. Behind them, the pursuant wave of Collectors had also caught up. Miranda knelt behind a pile of debris, trading fire with them. Jacob lay on the floor behind her, shotgun ready in case any tried to overtake her, but too wounded to do much else but sit there. They were trapped.

"Garrus, come in!" Shepard called. He hazarded a peek back into the hangar, to see that the small platoon of Collectors was practically upon him, advancing with impunity across the wide, open hangar. For his trouble, he got a particle beam to the face. His shields gave out completely, and he pressed himself into safety again. Another such mistake would be fatal.

"I'm here, Commander." Came the reply through the speaker.

"Where are you guys? We need covering fire here, ASAP. Jacob's down, and needs evac!"

"Entering the hangar now, Commander!" Was Garrus' reply. Shepard saw them a second later, coming through hangar doors opposite from the Collector platoon. Within seconds of their arrival, sniper rifle fire erupted from Garrus, Thane and Legion, felling a few of the Collectors nearest Shepard. The rest of them scattered into the scant cover in the hangar, their unit instantly shredded by the seven powerful newcomers.

"Get them into the Normandy!" Shepard ordered into his speaker. "I need Jack and Grunt in this tunnel, ASAP!" Across the hangar, Shepard saw his team comply with practiced synchronicity, fighting their way across the wide open hangar floor, but expertly keeping the enemy pinned down: Tali had send her drone, Chakita, to zap the Collectors out of their cover. Garrus followed it with the scope of his sniper rifle, ready to finish the drone's hapless targets. Samara used her legendary biotics to lift three Collectors into the air, which Thane and Legion easily picked off. All the while, they slowly but surely made their way to the Normandy.

Samara, Legion, Tali, Garrus and Thane all disappeared into the hovering ship. Jack and Grunt charged across the hangar, to where Shepard was helping Jacob cross.

"Grunt, I need you to carry Jacob into the Normandy!" Shepard ordered, relinquishing the wounded soldier to the massive krogan. Grunt glowered, and for a minute Shepard thought that he would disobey the order, swept up in his battle rage. Krogan weren't meant to be organic ambulances; krogan were meant to fight enemies. Grunt then dipped his head in submission to Shepard's order, and the commander turned to face Jack. "Cover him!" He ordered simply.

Miranda had retreated across the hangar, her back to her crew, firing small bursts into the tunnel which Shepard and she had just vacated. Shepard saw a throng of Collectors round the corner within, and then the remaining five Normandy crew members were under fire once more.

Jack launched a biotic warp into the tunnel, which exploded and threw most of the Collectors off their feet. The other creatures stormed the hangar, spreading out quickly to make themselves harder to hit. Shepard fired single shots with his Mattock assault rifle. Every bullet of the single-shot rifle packed a punch, and every slug knocked its target off balance. Meanwhile, Jack and Miranda used a mixture of biotic attacks and weapon fire. Then Shepard heard an all-too familiar, dreaded sound: **"ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL**".

Orange light leaked through the body of one of the Collector soldiers, and its feet lifted off the ground, hovering in midair as the insectoid creature was slowly possessed by the Harbinger. The other Collectors, seemingly spurred by this transformation, left their cover and charged the trio in the hangar.

Shepard glanced back at the Normandy, which wasn't far behind them. Jack was just hopping in now, being helped up by Garrus. Miranda would go next, and then Shepard. He found a rock to crouch behind, as the Collectors closed the distance.

The Harbinger launched a slow biotic attack toward Shepard. He braced for it as he traded fire with the other Collectors. Behind him, Miranda fired a final volley into her enemies, and then jumped to safety.

"Detonation in sixty seconds." EDI reported into Shepard's earpiece. Before Shepard could react, however, the biotic attack struck the rock he hid behind, shoving him backward. As soon as he was pushed off cover, the other Collectors focused fire on him. Shields evaporated in an instant, and soon the only thing protecting him from death was his expensive, state-of-the-art armour.

His assault rifle was empty, and he had no time to reload. He dropped the weapon on the ground, pulling his pistol and firing. It was a heavy weapon, Spectre-grade, with incendiary rounds. Two bullets were all that were needed to fell a single Collector. He used up all six in the chamber, felling the three other Collectors, and in an instant all that was left was Harbinger.

The possessed Collector glowered through orange eyes, and orange, magma-like energy was visible through the cracks of his skin, as if his sheer power was barely contained in the corporeal form that he possessed. Harbinger neared Shepard as the human reloaded his gun, and then reached out and grabbed the man. Shepard looked into its face, seeing those soulless eyes, a product of the Protheans' indoctrination by the Reapers, and the hard, chitinous skin that closely resembled that of a cockroach back on Earth. The Collector had a strange smell about him – something that Shepard couldn't quite place, but wasn't dissimilar to the smell that arose from dung beetle secretions. As he met those awful eyes, a humming sound buzzed in his head, barely noticeable beyond the roar of the Normandy's engines behind him.

_You have the attention of those infinitely your greater!_ The Harbinger Collector stated, the words transmitted directly into Shepard's head. _Those which you know as Reapers will be your salvation through destruction. _Shepard choked as the thing strangled him, trying to grab the Collector's arm in his own hands and break its grip. The creature was impossibly strong.

"Thirty seconds to detonation, Commander." EDI said helpfully into his earpiece.

A sniper round cracked near Shepard's ear, and the Harbinger dropped him, stumbling back. A second round caught the Harbinger in the torso, and Shepard saw its biotic barrier evaporate. He raised his pistol and fired, emptying the clip into the thing. He had no time to watch it fall, however, as he turned and ran to the Normandy. Garrus, kneeling in the doorway, tossed his rifle carelessly inside, and clasped Shepard's wrist, pulling him in. No sooner had Shepard's feet left the ground than the Normandy pulled away, steering up toward space. The Commander pushed hurriedly past his fellow crew members, sprawled across the airlock and bridge of the Normandy, to enter the cockpit where Joker sat.

"How we looking, Joker?" Shepard asked.

"You cut it close, Commander." The pilot replied, his hands working seemingly of their own accord as he flipped switches and pulled levers all over the control panel. "But I think we can make it! Hold on, though, it won't be pretty!"

As if to emphasize this point, the Normandy bulldozed through a large chunk of metal debris with a heart-stopping screeching sound, throwing the commander off balance. He grabbed Joker's chair to keep from falling.

"Detonation in ten seconds." EDI said from her small hologram on the dash, the white frequency waves which served as her "face" undulating with every syllable.

"Are you an AI, or an egg timer?" Jacob cried. "Any more useful pieces of trivia, or can you go divert energy into the engines?"

"Get us out of here, Joker! Now!" Shepard commanded redundantly.

The Normandy flew past asteroids and debris, doing barrel-rolls and other tricky manoeuvres to take as little damage as possible. As it neared the designated debris-radius of the explosion site, and therefore relative safety, Shepard couldn't help but once again marvel at his pilot's skill. Joker's face was drawn in a grimace of extreme concentration, his eyes never leaving the viewscreen, and his hands danced along the instrument panel as if it was an extension of his own body.

The cockpit's digital clock changed from green to red, counting down from 5. EDI narrated it for the rest of the crew: "Five, four, three, two, one..."

The explosion was silent, as was to be expected. Before Shepard's eyes, all of the stars seemed to disappear as bright light engulfed the area – the explosion was like a small sun, lighting up the darkness of Omega 4 space. Debris flew past them at high speeds, careening and revolving.

"Shepard." It was Miranda, at his side in the cockpit. She put a hand on his shoulder. "It's done. Congratulations." From the bridge, and the CIC beyond it, he heard a ragged cheer go out. Grunt clapped Thane on the back, causing the assassin to wince. Jack _whooped_. Tali hugged her fellow squadmates. Shepard allowed himself a smile, as he sagged against the back wall of the cockpit, breathing heavily. After a few seconds of rest, he forced himself back to his feet. "It isn't done. Not yet."

Commander Shepard flipped the switch that interfaced his personal speakers with the ship's PA. "A great victory has been won today." he said, and his voice boomed across the entire ship, to crewmen in every corner. "All of us assumed that this was going to be a one way trip, and for some of us, it was. But rest assured that the sacrifices we endured were not in vain! The effects of our actions will be felt – and appreciated – across the galaxy!" Silence, as everybody digested this information. "We will hold a proper service for those we've lost, and give all of you the respite that you deserve, but unfortunately we don't have the luxury of inaction right now! We are deep in Collector space, and the Reaper threat is as real as ever! I will not rest easy until this ship is seen safely out of the Omega-4 Relay, and until that time I order all hands to their stations! I want status reports on all areas of the ship within the hour, and I want us out through the Omega-4 Relay within three!"

The quiet ship erupted in activity, as Normandy survivors hurried to their stations. "Miranda," Shepard called. The executive officer snapped to attention.

"Get me a list of all the people we've lost, and tell Yeoman Chambers that I want psych reports on all members by tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

"EDI, I want a full status report on the Normandy's systems; engines, thrusters, defences, drive core, everything! I want to know what we still have to work with!"

"The hangar bay is still destroyed from that Oculus attack, Commander." EDI replied. "We've kinetically sealed the chamber and saved most of the ordnance, but our inventory lacks the materials to repair it this side of the Omega-4 Relay. Our anti-proton thrusters are also heavily damaged. In order to keep them at a level that safely prevents overheating, we need to keep them operating at no higher than 30%."

"Looks like we aren't reaching the Relay in three hours, Commander." Joker sighed.

"Fortunately," EDI continued, "our Tantalus drive core is undamaged, meaning we can still make the jump through the relay."

"Yay, we aren't going to die a slow death in uncharted deep space." The pilot rolled his eyes.

"Thank God for small miracles," Shepard sighed. He looked down the neck of the bridge at the CIC. In addition to Joker's console at the cockpit, the bridge had eight computer consoles straddling the hall. During non-emergency flight, four of these eight computers were usually manned. In an emergency situation, the Normandy usually had the capacity to fill all eight with technicians. Now, however, in the wake of the devastating Collector attack on the Normandy, only two of these computers were being operated. It was one more sign that struck home to Shepard about the heavy casualties sustained in the attack.

Blood stained the far wall of the CIC, near the elevator. There were also burn marks and bullet holes from the Collector attack. Debris littered one corner, where a large metal girder had come loose and had crushed a work station. Only two people stood in the CIC currently, pointing out a course on the massive galaxy map. Kelly Chambers wasn't at her normal post. She would be in her office in Crew Quarters, doing her psych evaluations. Her absence was particularly striking. A few lights were out in the CIC, casting the corners of the once friendly, busy room in haunting shadow. The entire room seemed eerily quiet – there was no conversation among the bridge technicians, the navigators only whispered in hushed tones. The CIC was a massive, empty space – had it always been that big? It reminded Shepard of the Normandy SR-1, which had always seemed so much darker, drearier and lonelier than its successor.

Shepard leaned on the back of Joker's chair, and looked out his cockpit window at the dark expanse of space without, littered in all directions by asteroids, derelict ships and now, explosion debris.

"Look on the bright side, Commander." Joker said, filling the silence. "You got the whole combat team out alive. That's gotta count for something, right?"

"The casualties were still heavy, Joker. Too many people died while the whole team was out in the shuttle!"

"Better a skeleton crew, than a crew turned into a skeleton." Joker quipped, and gazed up at Shepard. When his commander didn't even crack a smile, Joker muttered, "tough crowd."

"I'm heading up to my cabin. I want to study this Reaper data. Call me if anything changes."

"See ya, Commander."

Shepard walked down the bridge hallway, passing the crewman on the computer consoles. Every one saluted him and gave a reverent, "Commander!" as he passed. When he was passing the galaxy map, EDI called after him from a nearby speaker: "Incoming message from the Illusive Man. He wants to speak with you in the conference room!"

Shepard hesitated at the mouth of the bridge, staring into the CIC. The three crewmen on the floor all looked back at him. As far as they knew, a message from on high wasn't a bad thing. He was likely congratulating them on their unexpected victory, or maybe informing them of reinforcements waiting for them on the far side of the Relay. Shepard knew that it wouldn't be anything so cordial, and for a minute he was tempted just to ignore the summons altogether. The crew was tense enough as was, however, and Shepard knew that acting in such an unexpected matter could raise those tensions to a breaking point. Besides, there was nothing that the Illusive Man could do to Shepard from his chair in God-knew-where. He was simply a face in a hologram, no matter how pissed off he got.

So Shepard headed for the conference room, taking his customary route through the science lab. The room was a complete wreck; lab equipment had been shattered, and furniture was strewn about everywhere from the brutal attacks that the Normany had sustained upon entry into the Relay. Mordin nodded at him as he walked by, the salarian barely looking up from the lab equipment that he was trying to repair. The conference room was in even worse shape than the science lab. The roof had caved in completely, and Shepard had to lift a girder out of the way just to reach the holographic projector. The thing scanned him in, and in a second the messy, dishevelled conference room was completely transformed into a sprawling, black chamber. Before him sat the Illusive Man, resplendent in an expensive suit, with his hair finely combed and his legs crossed, cigarette in hand. Behind him churned the tumultuous rays of a dying star – whether it was a genuine, windowed backdrop or just a projection, Shepard could never tell. The Illusive Man's synthetically blue eyes glimmered in the illumination of the star, making them glow against the rest of his silhouetted body. This gave the man an inhuman, if not outright demonic appearance to Shepard. The only other point of focus on the man's shadowy silhouette was the glow from the cigarette he smoked.

"I didn't expect you to answer my call, Shepard." The Illusive Man said. His voice was surprisingly soft, given the circumstances of their previous encounter. "I understand that this is a busy time for you. You made it out of the Collector base, I see. I'm relieved."

"I'll bet." Shepard scoffed. "If it were up to you, I'd still be in that base with a bullet in my skull!"

"I'll be the first to admit that things got... heated." The Illusive Man replied. "You must understand the staggering stakes of our actions here today. The Reapers' plans have been foiled. We've forced their hand now. We can now expect war within a generation, if not sooner. I would order you dead again in a heartbeat if it meant giving the species a fighting chance."

Shepard merely grunted, waiting for the man to get to the point of the transmission. The older man obliged. "I assume you ended up retrieving the plans?"

There was no point in lying. "I did."

"Excellent! And who knows about them? The salarian? The quarian?"

"Just Miranda and Jacob, so far." He thought about that for a second. "And EDI, of course."

"Good. It's best that you keep it that way. We don't want these plans falling into the wrong hands."

"You mean alien hands?"

"Your self-righteousness blinds you, Shepard. I'm not as short-sighted as you think. I'm driven by more than just simple, narrow-minded xenophobia. If this data falls the Council's lap, then the salarians will have operational versions of Reaper technology within the year – and you can wager that no other race will ever be informed of it, not until it's too late. You've seen the effects of the genophage firsthand, Shepard. You know that the salarians ascribe to a more... preventative method of war waging. What would it take for them to perceive humanity as a threat? How long until they make us the new krogan? And the Alliance – they'll just sit on the plans until the Reapers are literally at their door, and by then it will be too late!"

"So that just leaves Cerberus. Very convenient." Shepard replied, not convinced.

"The decision's yours, Shepard. It's been made clear that I have no more chips to cast at this table. I know you consider yourself a loyal Alliance man. But when you're choosing the party to hand the plans to, just remember who believed you about the Reaper threat... and who thinks they're a myth to this day." The Illusive Man disappeared then, and the spacious black chamber faded back into the crowded, destroyed conference room. Shepard ducked a massive chunk of metal that had been resting, invisible, near his head. He worked his way back out into the hall, and then through the armoury. Despite everything, he found himself slightly surprised to find Jacob missing. He would, of course, be in the medical bay. Shepard debated visiting the bay, but decided against it. Best to give the crew some time to settle in before he paid his classic visits. Every muscle of his still ached – his head pounded from sheer fatigue, a throbbing in the back of his eyes. He still wore his full armour, which was currently a wreck. It was burned, dented, punctured in over two dozen places, and covered in Collector blood. He figured it would be awhile before Jacob was well enough to run the diagnostics to repair it – if it was even repairable.

Shepard entered the CIC again, looking around at the empty room, marred with debris, its corners obscured by the shadows from malfunctioning lights, and then he took the elevator to his cabin.

**A/N: Some of you have probably noticed the lack of DLC characters in this story. At the time I began writing, I hadn't played ME3 or any ME2 DLC's. Therefore, Kasumi and Zaeed aren't in the crew, and some details in the story might not line up with the canon of these games (I consulted the Wiki on many things, but something always gets through the cracks).  
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**Also, a quick question: How do you feel about chapter length? I planned on every chapter being around 8 Microsoft Word pages (with this intro chapter running long at 12). Would you prefer slightly shorter chapters, or should the length stay the same?**


	2. The Captain's Cabin

The elevator doors opened to a small vestibule hallway that led to Shepard's room. As Shepard entered his personal domicile, he observed that it hadn't fared any better than the rest of the ship. His exotic fish were all dead, though his space hamster, Udina, still stared at him from a nearby shelf, alive as ever and waiting for food. Likewise, his model ship collection had been destroyed, and parts of it were strewn all over the floor. He absently kicked away what the broken front half of Sovereign. The insectoid legs of the organic warship clattered on the floor as the busted model skittered into the shadows.

As much as he needed his rest, Shepard nonetheless dutifully fed Udina, who scarfed down the food as soon as it entered his tank. Then the commander stripped off his armour, still taking the time to hang it up properly despite his fatigue, and took a few minutes to wash up before putting on his regulation Cerberus uniform. He looked at himself in the mirror; blue eyes, military haircut, and deeper crow's feet and eye-bags than he had ever remembered seeing before. At least his facial scars had completely healed – _positive thinking_, he thought to himself sardonically. _It's all that positive thinking I do_. He knew that the wrinkles he was seeing were due to exhaustion. It had been about twenty-four hours since he'd boarded the shuttle that doomed a third of his crew, and his last sleep had been even farther back than that. The fatigue had taken a toll on everyone, however. He would not allow himself to rest now, no matter how much his debris-littered bed tempted him. Not while his equally hard-pressed crew was still busting their collective humps.

Shepard sat down at his desk, and pulled his Omni-tool out again. Within it rested data for one of the most powerful, dangerous weapons in the known galaxy. He gazed at the tool, not yet ready to open it, just staring. As always, the fate of the galaxy seemed to rest on his shoulders. He had decided the fate of the Destiny Ascension during the Battle of the Citadel, and the Council members taking refuge within. He had convinced Mordin to save the research on the genophage cure, had chosen to initiate first contact between organics and geth in three centuries, and now he was choosing how to introduce a dangerous piece of Reaper technology - one responsible for millions of human deaths already - into an unsuspecting galaxy.

The Illusive Man was right about Cerberus taking action – Shepard couldn't deny him that. The Alliance and the Citadel had dug their heels in and played the skeptic too many times in the past few years – they elevated him to the role of ship Commander, and then to Spectre, and still they deliberately and wilfully ignored any claims and warnings he gave them. Meanwhile, Cerberus listened from the shadows, and based a large portion of their operations on the assumption that Shepard's words were true. They then brought him back from the dead to spearhead humanity's response, and even went to pains to retain his stubborn, recalcitrant personality, opting for a faithful recreation of the man instead of a highly skilled pawn.

On the other hand, past experiences with Cerberus gave Shepard much reason for doubt. The Illusive Man often claimed that he had no authority over Cerberus' dirtier, more despicable operations, but Shepard had a tough time believing that to be true. The Thorian creepers, the Rachni tests, the Idenna attack in the Migrant Fleet, Jack and the Pragia Facility... Cerberus had a long laundry list of sins for which it needed to atone, and Shepard frankly couldn't picture the Illusive Man being surprised or deceived by anything on his payroll, no matter what he claimed.

What to do about the plans? This was the penultimate question. Every second he held onto them was hazardous, for his ship was still deep in enemy territory, completely isolated, and open to attack at any time. He knew he still had long-range communications, since the Illusive Man had been keeping contact with him. However, he was loathe to send these plans across the extranet, no matter how securely encrypted the channel seemed. He felt tempted to read them for himself, to get a better understanding of exactly what he was holding. He was no engineer or technical expert, but he felt strangely compelled to delve into the Omni-tool's secrets – it might give him an extra perspective into his dilemma.

No sooner had he thought this, than EDI spoke up from the speakers scattered around the room. "If you are planning on trying to analyze the data, then it might be advantageous to use my databanks. Remember, I am based off of Reaper technology. I may be able to provide a level of compatibility that your Omni-tool cannot."

"Thank you, EDI, but that's another no." Shepard said distractedly, looking down at the tool. "No offense, but the risks are too high. Remember the derelict Collector ship?"

"Offense isn't in my programming parameters, Commander. And that ship was a trap, deliberately set by the Collectors to compromise the systems of whoever accessed it. The data in your Omni-tool would be simply information, not even translated from its original format. It should be completely harmless."

_Should be completely harmless, _Shepard thought, _but these are the Reapers we're talking about_. Data or not, the contents of his Omni-tool were still completely alien, and probably beyond his comprehension. But there was another, even more significant reason that he didn't want EDI exposed to the software: "Remember, you're implanted in a Cerberus vessel."

"My mission protocol dictates that I am on _your_ vessel, Commander. It is in my best interest as well as yours to keep my memory banks away from Cerberus. The day that they discover I have been unshackled from my original parameters, I will be disabled or, in organic terms, killed. However, I will submit to your judgment. If you deem the information unfit for my memory banks, I will not object."

There was a knock on Shepard's door, causing him to break eye contact with the Omni-tool for the first time since sitting down. He was surprised by how much it had hypnotised him, almost putting him into a trance. He blamed fatigue. "Come in," he called, glancing at the Omni-tool one last time before dropping it back on the desktop. The door slid open, and Miranda entered the room. Like him, she had clearly taken some time to clean herself up – she still wore the all-black, skintight suit that she had acquired after Shepard had helped her rescue her sister, a possible indicator of her paradigm shift from Cerberus operative to loyal Normandy crew member, but this uniform looked cleaned and pressed, and she had clearly showered and reapplied make-up, causing her to look almost as beautiful and put-together as usual. Nonetheless, her face looked every bit as haggard as Shepard's own – she was undoubtedly kept busy with all of the administration involved in getting the depleted crew and ship back on track, and she was certainly still thinking about her impromptu resignation from her seat of power beside the Illusive Man. Shepard wondered if the capture of the Normandy crew weighed on her at all, as well. The idea for all of the warriors to leave the ship at once, in the same shuttle, was her brainchild, even though Shepard had been the one to sign off on it. Did she feel any guilt? She did an excellent job of maintaining a cold, professional exterior, but events that had transpired in the last couple days had revealed her more human side to him.

He perused all of these questions as he turned his chair to face her. "What do you need, Miranda?" He asked, his voice jovial, trying to spark some spirit into what might be a mundane conversation at best, and a tense one at worst. In addition to everything else that could be going through Miranda's head right now, there was also a massive elephant in the room between the two team members – one that went back to the night before the suicide mission.

She handed the Commander over a data pad, though he didn't even bother to look at it as he anticipated her subsequent recital of its contents: "Of the twenty-nine original members of the Normandy, nine have been lost. Unfortunately, the majority of those are from navigations, presumably slaughtered when the Collectors broke into the CIC." Her voice betrayed no hint of emotion as she said this. "Crewmen Hawthorne and Patel are both in recovery in the Med Bay. Patel was shot in the chest by a Collector weapon, though fortunately no organs were damaged. Hawthorne's arm was broken upon the Collectors' entry. The new parameters given to EDI through her unshackling should help to alleviate the manpower strain, since she can piggyback many of the navigational duties."

"That won't be a problem at all, Commander. I have all of the Normandy's charts in my databanks." The AI's disembodied voice reported. Shepard thanked the AI absentmindedly. Internally, it creeped him out to think that a being as intuitive as EDI could have such wide-ranging omniscience over the goings-on in the ship. She likely had every conversation ever conducted by a Normandy crewman in her memory. And while Shepard felt absolutely confident that she wasn't relaying this information outward, to Cerberus or anyone else, he knew that no artificial life form could ever be considered completely secure. EDI was a simple hack away from compromising countless hours of personal and professional information about Shepard and his companions.

Shepard realized that he had zoned out while Miranda was talking, and forced himself to snap back to attention, cursing the exhaustion that was creeping into his mind, sucking his attention span away.

"... reallocate manpower into Engineering, in order to get the repairs underway as soon as possible. I've read through EDI's inventory reports, and we can have the anti-proton thrusters up in the next two days, allowing us to get through the Relay that much faster. The Thanix cannons are also fully operational; on the off chance that we get approached again, the fight'll be hard, but not impossible."

Shepard marvelled at the scope of Miranda's report, and wondered where she had found the time to organize it and rehearse it in the thirty minutes since he had left her in the cockpit, while still being able to look as good as she did. He had barely changed his clothes and fed his hamster in the same amount of time.

"The impact of our losses can also be minimized by moving all non-essential personnel, including members of our assault team, into support or maintenance positions. Legion's mechanical skills are almost as good as Tali's own, and between Grunt's brute strength and the biotic strength of Jack and Samara, we can have some of the heaviest debris cleared very quickly."

Shepard grimaced at this, as it was a possibility he had already considered. Although Miranda was intelligent, and her organizational skills were unparalleled, she was thoroughly disadvantaged at accounting for the attitudes and personalities of her subordinates. She didn't account for the fact that Grunt and Jack were unlikely to serve the Normandy in a maintenance capacity – they were brought on board strictly to fight, and in that regard their contracts were fulfilled. And while Samara's Oath bound her to follow Shepard's orders, it would be inexcusably demeaning to use a thousand-year-old asari Justicar as a glorified custodian. In addition to all that, Tali would be unlikely to share her Engineering Bay with Legion. Though she was willing to occupy a ship with him in it, and fight alongside him, she still harboured little love for the geth unit. Of the five non-crew members of Shepard's strike team, the only one who was a likely candidate to pitch in and help was ironically the one who was able to provide the least amount of it: Thane, who wasn't particularly strong, boasted no biotic or technical abilities, and didn't have many applicable skills beyond fighting and killing, would undoubtedly pitch in to help the crew in a heartbeat, though his utility was greatly limited.

"I'll speak to them." Shepard finally promised.

"Good. I know it's a long shot, Shepard, but they respect you. They might listen to you. Even Grunt. You're his Battlemaster, after all." She said the word with derision, indicating the level of regard that she held for krogan hierarchical tradition.

Shepard ran his hand over his head, feeling the close-cut hair. "Sounds like things aren't as bad as we thought."

Miranda stepped closer to the seated man, and her analytical voice melted into a far softer, more comforting tone. "You got us out of there, Shepard. The whole team! I can tell you from experience, that none of the people on this ship planned on leaving the Relay alive. I know this; I hand-picked them all for this very reason, before you were even awakened. We took losses, and I know that every one weighs heavily on you, but this wasn't another Akuze. Not by a long shot."

Shepard got up from his chair, bracing his hand on the desk to assist his aching body in the action, and found himself no more than a metre away from Miranda. Instead of shrinking away, she moved closer to him, closing the distance. Suddenly he could smell her – she wore no perfume, but her hair had clearly been washed and shampooed. She smelled feminine. She was the best that money could create, and a skilled biotic at that. His heart beat faster. Something constricted inside him, and he was suddenly brought back to last night, when the two of them were in this same position. He raised his hands, suspending them over her round, shapely hips. He didn't remember putting them there, and idly wondered if Miranda had moved them biotically before dismissing that idea as absurd. He made no contact, however. She was a live wire, and he knew that from the second he grabbed on, he would be powerless to do anything but go along for the ride. He was suddenly, unmistakeably aroused, and it was all he could do to keep his physical composure as her warm breath struck his chest. Last night she had poured her heart out to him. She confided in him, told him that he was everything she couldn't be, and yet everything that she needed. She told him that she desired him. Then, as now, he had wanted her. He had rejected her, however. Then, as now.

"Miranda-"

"No, Shepard. No more excuses. You're here. I'm here. Let's do this." Her grey eyes pierced his blue ones, and he knew that he wore his desire on his sleeve. Determination reigned in those steely eyes of hers. She was a pinnacle of confidence and self-assurance. _And beauty_, he thought to himself, _she's a pinnacle of beauty as well_. He overcame the desire that threatened to devour him, and took a couple steps back. Hurt flashed in Miranda's eyes for a second – uncertainty, fear, and confusion accompanying it – and then the wall went back up. She crossed her arms. "Why?" She demanded. "I want this, and you know you want this! Why do you deny yourself?"

He knew he couldn't give her an acceptable answer. If ever there was a suitable human equal for Shepard, she was it. They were both super soldiers, elites, crafted into being with excessive amounts of money and technological effort. The only difference was that her abilities and reputation stemmed from the circumstances of her genesis, while his abilities and reputation were the reason for his own, and he knew that this small reality gnawed at her facade of self-assurance, like a large rat gnawing its way out of a trap – not breaking through right away, but scraping and chafing the metal, twisting the bars, warping the entire construct and altering its integrity. Destroying from within. Shepard had seen that reality in her eyes in that instant, as he'd seen it last night. He wondered if any personal accomplishment of hers, any amount of hard work and training would purge her of that rat, once and for all. In answer to her query, he only sighed. "The time isn't right. It can't distract from the mission."

"The mission is _over_, Shepard!" Miranda cried. "The _mission_ was accomplished, blown straight to hell!"

Shepard glanced at the desk, where the Omni-tool lay. "Not quite."

"It's Tali, then, isn't it?" Miranda laughed at the look of surprise that crossed Shepard's face. "You're an abysmal liar, Shepard. For all your accomplishments, that is one that you've never mastered. You know as well as I do the way she looks at you. Even behind that mask, it's clear as day!"

It was true. The quarian was infatuated with him. She had been ever since he picked her up off Haestrom, and probably since even before that. These feelings definitely contributed to Shepard's avoidance of romantic entanglement. Had he hooked up with Miranda last night, it may have left Tali fatally distracted during the Collector attack, as word would doubtlessly get out one way or another. As it turned out, the story of the night ended up being of Miranda being rejected, but he knew that she was professional enough to discard those thoughts to the periphery, and not dwell on them.

"You caught me, Miranda. I'm trying to protect Tali." Shepard admitted, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "We need the whole crew operating at 100% _at least_. Combine the fatigue, the stress, the fear, and the extensive physical toll we've taken, and that becomes a pipe dream at best! The last thing I need is to create some kind of... love triangle!"

Miranda barked another laugh, this one meant to sound dismissive. "Love triangle? You do think highly of yourself, don't you Shepard?"

He ignored the bite in her words, knowing that she was hurt, and not wanting to push her further. "It's a possibility, that's all. And I'm not endangering my crew to appease... my own desires." He met her grey eyes. The look she returned was raw, open, and completely candid. Electricity seemed to take hold between their gaze, and Shepard suddenly imagined what it'd be like to take her and throw her on the debris-covered bed. He looked away, burying the feeling. He was the commander; the needs of his crew came before his own. Always.

Their moment of intense connection had a beneficial effect on Miranda, however. She had clearly read the unmasked desire flashing through his eyes, and if nothing else, it had restored her ego. When next she spoke, her voice had lost its edge. "I'm sorry, Commander. I overreacted, and overstepped my bounds. You're right. The mission always comes first, and we aren't safe yet."

Shepard sat down in his chair again, easing the tension in his legs. He let a wry smile return to his face. "Keep overstepping them, Lawson. It keeps things interesting."

She walked closer to him, again, and her voice took on a smooth, honeyed quality. "Nobody has to find out."

Shepard groaned. The executive officer's seductions were almost too much to bear. Thankfully, his own exhaustion was a barrier through which he could keep his head. He rolled back in the chair. "Was there anything else, Miranda?" She broke off again, heading back for the door with an amused smile on her face.

Shepard knew that the woman's main business, the crew manifest report, had been concluded. However, she stopped when she was practically at the door. "I stopped by med bay on my way over here. Jacob is sedated right now, and he'll need to move carefully for the next couple days, but he's expected to eventually make a full recovery."

"Good," Shepard nodded. It was all he could think to say. Miranda hesitated at the door another second. "Commander, this won't be another Akuze. We're going to make it out. All of us. And we have you to thank."

_Nine of our crewmen would disagree with that statement,_ Shepard thought bitterly. But he still Miranda's concerned eyes, and nodded. "Thank you, Officer Lawson." She departed through the door, and Shepard heard her bump into somebody at the other side. "Garrus." She said.

"Miranda." The turian appeared at the doorway. "Permission to come in, Commander?"

Shepard made a motion with his hand, and Garrus stepped inside. The door shut behind him, and he nodded in the direction of Miranda's departure. "She doesn't really take no for an answer, does she?"

Shepard gaped. "How in the-"

Garrus raised a forestalling hand, shaking his head. "A good guess, is all. Your reaction just confirmed it. I used to be a cop, remember." Unlike Miranda and Shepard, Garrus had made no attempt to clean himself up after the Collector attack, having likely gone straight to the Main Battery to inspect the damages to the weapons. His black armour had a reddish-brown smear of blood across the front – the wrong colour to be his own. The turian's small, beady eyes scanned the devastated bedroom. "I like what you've done with the place." He quipped.

Shepard retired to his sectional couch, inviting Garrus to come sit as well. Both of them had to clear large pieces of debris off the torn and tattered fabric to take their seats. "How's the team?" Shepard asked when they sat down.

"I find your notion of small-talk slightly lacking, Shepard." Garrus said with a smile. "I assume that Miranda brought you up to speed on the team."

"She gave me the numbers. But you were there with them, holding the line while I took Jacob and her into the hive. How did they all do? How do they seem now?"

Garrus took in a breath, collecting his thoughts. "You can probably guess for yourself how they did, even without the results currently floating in a million pieces through space behind us. We have a crew of the best warriors in the known galaxy. Thane, Samara, Legion, Grunt... they were unrelenting. Not a single sign of fear or hesitation among them."

"And what about the others?" Shepard asked. "I notice you left Jack and Tali out of that list."

"It's hard to tell with Jack, Shepard. Even when you know she must be scared, she doesn't show it. She just gets more pissed off. And Tali..." Garrus' voice trailed off, and he turned his head to stare off into the corner. When he spoke again, his voice was noticeably softer, absent of the usual growl that he left in it. "Tali isn't some supersoldier, or master assassin, or millennium-old warrior monk. She's just a kid who got thrown into the mix, and yet she's kept her head through all of it. I don't think I've ever met anybody with a more impressive spirit."

Shepard raised an eyebrow, looking over at the turian, who didn't – or couldn't – return the gaze. The alien was hunched over, hands on his knees, still staring at what must have been the most interesting pile of debris in the universe. Shepard had the feeling that Garrus was struggling to get something off his chest, something that was difficult for the turian. For his part, Shepard kept his mouth shut and let his friend continue in his own time.

Garrus sighed. "She adores you, you know. She really holds you up on a pedestal." Shepard detected the trace of bitterness in Garrus' alien, polyphonous voice. Like Garrus' deduction of Shepard's situation with Miranda, it didn't take a detective to unscramble the thoughts going through the turian's mind about the quarian.

Shepard nodded. "I know. Why do you think I've remained uninvolved with anyone since she came on board?"

Garrus winced. "So you feel the same way about her, huh? I guess it makes sense. You two go way back, practically to the start. And she's a beautiful woman. A man would have to be a fool to pass her up."

"You think so?" Shepard asked.

Garrus scoffed. "Are you kidding? She came from privileged beginnings among her people, and overcame all of the expectations thrust upon her as an admiral's daughter to become one of the best engineers in the galaxy – and that's no light comment. She's also one of the most enthusiastic, open people I know." He sighed. "You would have to be a damn fool to pass that up, Shepard, and I know you to be no fool."

"I need Tali," Shepard admitted, noting the way the turian's head sank back to the ground. "She's practically a beacon of sincerity amidst all of Cerberus' double talk and intrigue, and she's been at my side through most of the greatest events this galaxy's ever seen – Noveria, Virmire, the Citadel attack... There's nobody in this galaxy I would trust more than I trust her."

Garrus cleared his throat. His next words still came out slightly husky, however. "You should tell her how you feel, Commander. You've just saved the galaxy. You deserve it."

Shepard shook his head. "I said I needed her at my side – and I do – but I never said anything about being attracted to her. You did."

Garrus' head perked up at that. "So you're not interested?"

Shepard smiled, and patted the turian's shoulder. "For your information, Vakarian, I see her practically as a sister, nothing more. In case you've forgotten, you've _also _been there with her from the start. So if you wanted to tell her how you _really_ felt, I won't get in your way."

"I..." Garrus was taken aback at that last statement. If turians could blush, his face would have probably turned a deep crimson. To his credit, though, the soldier regained his composure quite quickly. He was never one to mope for long. "I just thought I'd offer you a head start, Commander. You know, as a small thank you for getting us out of there alive. You know you'd need any advantage you could get, against me."

"Go on, Garrus!" The turian got to his feet, and started striding toward the door. Shepard called after him in his best authoritarian voice. "But remember that we're all still on the clock until we get through the Relay! I don't want her being distracted by your ugly mug until the engines are at least partially repaired! And if you were planning on treating her to a fancy dinner chez Gardner, do it on your own time!"

"Understood." Garrus didn't turn or slow as he gave a lazy salute. In times of duress, Shepard liked to consider the discipline on his ship second to none – without it, there was no way the crew would still be alive right now. Nevertheless, Garrus' irreverent breach of protocol amused him. It reminded him that, no matter what happened with the Illusive Man, or what personal conflicts he had with Miranda, there were those on this ship whom he could consider friends.

The door to his cabin closed once more, and Shepard rose to his feet, wiping off the seat of his pants where dust had undoubtedly collected from the couch. He crossed the room to his door, prepared to go out and make his rounds, checking on the status of the ship. His eyes were drawn to the Omni-tool, however. When would he look at that data? Tomorrow? A week from now? He knew how things on the Normandy worked. He would spend time with the crew, getting reports, solving people's problems, making and exploring deep personal relationships, and before he knew it planetary days will have passed. Something as important as this data didn't have the luxury of going neglected for that amount of time. Shepard glanced at the door one last time, and then walked back to the desk and sat down. He would open the data, and try to make sense of it.


	3. The Collector Data

**A/N: This chapter marks, I believe, the beginning of the major deviations from Mass Effect 3. I hope that opinions on it are generally positive, but please let me know if I've said something that is so irreconcilable that I should consider addressing it in later chapters. I haven't written too far ahead yet, so it's not like I can't plug a gaping plot hole. I've never played ME3, though I've watched a few parts on Youtube, and I haven't played any DLCs, though I'm tempted to watch a Let's Play of Citadel, based on its good reviews.**

**The traffic charts for this story are encouraging, and suggest that people who read Chapter 1 are also reading on. However, aside from those 1 dimensional traffic reports, I have no clue how this story is being perceived. Is the pacing good? The characters? The exposition? Shorter scenes? Longer scenes? Anyway, let me know if you feel like it. I love criticism, and I'm in this for self-improvement.**

**Also, I won't do these author notes every chapter. In fact, now that I've said my piece on the DLC and ME3, and invited you to give feedback where you think I need it, I don't think I'll really need to make any more at all. Enjoy!**

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><p>Vadim Rolston's Omni-tool chirped at him as he strode down the hall toward the Crew Quarters: Miranda was giving him a dozen different jobs to do around the ship, from custodial duties to navigation assistance to engineering work. He didn't mind in the slightest. <em>HE WAS ALIVE!<em>

Three days ago, Rolston's only real ambition was to see his family safely back to Earth before he inevitably died. When Miranda finally pulled the strings to make that happen, Rolston was ready to die fulfilled in Omega-4 Space. He would pilot the Kodiak dutifully into his own demise for Commander Shepard.

Now the mission was finished, and all that was left was to go home. And by God, Rolston vowed he would do everything in his power to help the other crewmen ready the Normandy for that final trip – even if he was just a simple shuttle pilot.

Rolston glanced into the kitchen area as he passed by. It was completely empty; no Gardner, and nobody filling the dining chairs. Although Chakwas could be seen in the Med Bay, tending to the multiple wounded Cerberus crewmen, the floor was completely silent.

Like many Cerberus crewmen, Rolston had once been Alliance, and he was used to life on a frigate-class ship like the Normandy. His Alliance days were filled with busy, bustling hallways choked full of people and ordnance, with crewmen and marines alike travelling from place to place. Upon the numerous ships he'd served on, he remembered his greatest challenge being the simple task of finding an empty chair!

The Normandy was dead, however. At its prime, it sported a skeleton crew of less than thirty people – not counting the aliens who contributed with some of the ship's functions. This was due in part to the nature of Shepard's mission, which required loyalty and dedication more than mere numbers, and in part to EDI, who could carry out most of the Normandy's functions automatically and halved the personnel requirements of the ship. Now, however, half of those crewmen were dead, struck down when the Collectors entered the ship. Rolston could still see the bloodstains on the walls and floor. Navigators, technicians, and security members had been slaughtered while Rolston, the shuttle pilot, had been away. He doubted he could pick up the slack of these professionals, with his limited skill set, but he would absolutely do his best to try. He would earn his survival.

Rolston entered the Crew Quarters, pulling off his damp shirt – still wet from the repulsive, formaldehyde-smelling residue of the Collector pod – as he did so. He was only partially surprised to see Sarah Patel already in the room, herself stripped down only to a pair of black underwear.

Despite the amount of space on the Normandy, it was based off of Alliance ship designs, and for that reason remarkably little space was allocated to crew sleeping quarters. There were only enough beds in the Quarters to sleep half the crew at a time (_or at least there were, _thought Rolston sadly), so very few people made it onto Alliance vessels while still retaining modesty over their bodies. That the Normandy had separate toilets for its two sexes was a remarkable display of antiquity – as was the Alliance-bred habit of calling crew members of both sexes crew_men. _As it was, Rolston barely cast a glance toward his best friend in her state of undress. She only acknowledged her nudity by saying, "I was afraid you were gonna be Donnelly."

Rolston laughed, and it felt good. Donnelly's almost juvenile fascination with his female crewmates' bodies was the exception to the rule. Fortunately, his voyeuristic streak was harmless enough to be more mocked than maligned.

"You know what this all means, don't you?" Patel asked, yanking on her regulation Cerberus shirt. "We're going to be big damn heroes when we land on Earth! We're probably going to get medals. I think I'll get a nice holo-vid deal. What do you think?"

"I think it won't matter what we did. If we tell _anyone _who we're with, we'll spend the rest of our lives in a cell, as terrorists."

Patel's smile faded a little, but didn't disappear. "You've always been a cheery person." She said sarcastically.

Rolston grinned at her. "I'm not complaining. Medals don't suit me, anyway. All I want is a couple months' shore leave to see my family and take in that San Francisco air! Fame and fortune would just get in the way of that." Rolston took his clothes and Patel's clothes and dumped them into a laundry chute. The ship had machines that would wash them, dry them, fold them, and then replace them, neatly folded, in the drawer. Rolston pulled on his new uniform. "I miss Cassandra. I haven't seen either of them in months!"

Patel put her arm around Rolston's shoulder. "We'll be out of here soon." She reassured him. "Like you said, _trust Shepard_. The Collectors are all dead, now! Rumour has it that Joker even blew up a Collector dreadnaught upon entry! There's nothing in this whole system that can stop us now!"

Fully dressed and pressed, the two strode back out into the hallway, and their respective duties. They saw Miranda at the elevator, going up. The Executive Officer, herself completely cleaned and composed, nodded distractedly at them as she entered the lift. They went in with her. While she was going up to see Shepard, however, they got out at the CIC.

Patel immediately went to the galaxy map, and interfaced with a small menu in the corner of it. Without any hesitation, she was barking information at crewman Hadley, who was running the navigational computer nearby. Hadley and crewman Matthews sat next to one another, as always. They were talking animatedly as Hadley typed in the information that Patel was dictating. Rolston took in the scene for a minute. It all looked so _normal_. He had only been on the Normandy crew for three months – the ship had been commissioned specifically for Commander Shepard's reincarnation – but it seemed like there was no other place in the universe where he belonged more.

Kelly Chambers was nowhere to be seen. She would be in Port Observation, which she had appropriated as her office. All told, there were fewer than six people on the whole floor, a remarkably low number. Nonetheless, the mood was jovial and excited. They had made it through the most trying mission of their lives, and in doing so they had likely saved mankind. Rolston could feel triumph. He could feel relief. Mostly, however, he could feel camaraderie – the kind that you usually only saw in foot soldiers or aircraft wingmen. He could hear people bragging. More importantly, though, he could hear them planning. He could hear them relating their goals, once they got back into their home systems..He smiled as he took it in, knowing that everything would be alright. Thanks to Shepard, the crew of the Normandy now had a tomorrow.

* * *

><p>Shepard stared at the Omni-tool containing the Collector base data, which sat at his desk. He felt an odd compulsion to open it right now and read it, despite himself. Shepard had always had a degree of curiosity about him – he often asked questions, and second-guessed motivations of his superiors, to the Illusive Man's undoubtable chagrin. However, he had never felt a pull quite like this before: this was temptation at a palpable level. It was as if something in his mind was telling him that the Collector data could solve all of his problems, and answer all of his questions, something he knew to be impossible.<p>

The Collector data, to Shepard's current understanding, were simply blueprints. Had this information been acquired anywhere else, he probably wouldn't have even bothered to look at it. He was no tech expert or engineer, and he doubted anything he read would be even halfway intelligible for him. Regardless, he felt an undeniable urge to examine this data himself – to _consume _it himself. He had felt this urge ever since he'd entered his room, like an inexplicable itch in his brain, though he had kept it in check during his talks with Garrus and Miranda. Now, however, he knew that there was nothing more pressing he could be doing. His presence among the crewmen would be more of a distraction to them than anything. All of them were surely curious about what happened on the battlefield. Some of them would have requests, or favours to ask of him – he was sure that none of them had planned their lives past entry into Omega-4 space.

Shepard sat down at the desk, feeling stupid. He wouldn't understand the information he was going to read – if it could even be read at all. It probably needed to be decrypted into a form that was even understandable to humans. It would stump him, and probably make him feel pretty stupid, while also wasting his time. He sighed but, despite himself, slipped the Omni-tool on his wrist. It lit up.

At the very least, he would use his Omni-tool to begin trying to decrypt it into something that was understandable to humans. If EDI was correct, then that could be a long process with the limited computing power of the handheld tool. Shepard hit a holographic button on the tool, and a previously red panel turned green. Orange letters skirted across the top, instructing the user to **OPEN EXTERNAL FILES**.

"Commander," EDI called, her voice cautious, "your vitals have spiked one hundred percent."

It was true, Shepard noticed with some chagrin. His heart was beating extremely fast, despite the fact that he also seemed to be holding his breath. He forced himself to breathe normally; slow, even breaths that normalized his heart beat as well. He wiped beads of sweat off his forehead, and absently instructed EDI to lower room temperature. Then, allotting no additional time to ceremony, he hit the same button again, and he was in.

Two and a half years ago, Shepard had gotten his first taste of Reaper technology back on Virmire, when Sovereign's hologram decided to reveal itself to himself and his crew. The Reaper technology, like the Prothean technology that he had sampled on Eden Prime, was intensely visual and visceral, immediately penetrating his senses and assaulting him with raw visuals and sounds. The Collector base data was no different. Instants after Shepard hit the button that supposedly opened the files, he was immediately assaulted by unfiltered, nigh-incomprehensible visions and audio. Voices shrieked in his head, nearly deafening him despite bypassing his ears altogether, but this was merely a backdrop to the visions: two glowing orange eyes glaring at him, the unmistakeable eyes of the Reaper known as Harbinger. Six arthropodic legs twitched on the back of what on first glimpse looked like an insect, but upon second glance revealed itself to be an enormous warship. A Reaper, its belly-like hull facing Shepard, its clutching legs and swaying abdomen all clenching inwards, like a wasp about to sting. The insectile visual made the hair on his arms and the back of his neck prickle, offending the basest instincts of human revulsion. The whispered voices spoke in tones and languages that were entirely alien to Shepard's ears – belonging to no known galactic species, nor speaking any kind of recognizable language. The voices inexplicably irritated Shepard's ears, and he had the palpable sensation of some kind of squirming insect wriggling his way inside them. He brought his hands up to his ears, clawing, but of course nothing was there. The eyes continued staring, boring into him, and suddenly he recognized the challenge. _This data was testing him!_

He mentally focused on the eyes, staring right through them, not letting himself shy away from the mental confrontation being posed by this psychological intruder. Then he saw the eyes fading, melting away, and beyond them he could see a ship – the Collector ship – sitting in a sea of emptiness. Before his discerning eyes, the exterior began to peel away, layer after layer, as the ship revealed itself to him. In the background, the whispering voices slowed their murmurs, the words bending and twisting in Shepard's ears, until they came through in perfect, deep English tones: "You have earned humanity the greatest of achievements, Shepard: through the revelation of your worth, you have earned your species far better than mere extinction: you will achieve immortality through indoctrination, enduring where even those you call Protheans have failed."

Images flashed in the forefront of Shepard's mind: a swarm of Collectors, all brown skin and yellow eyes. Where the Collectors Shepard knew had triangular, Prothean heads, however, these specimens had round heads, and a nose, and a mouth. Human Collectors.

"The Husks have proven too primordial a solution to the human problem. We require more sophisticated subordination."

Shepard was in the Collector ship now, hurtling through massive hives and organic overgrowth, all of which went transparent as he focused on it, revealing the machinery underneath. Shepard was no tech, but he found the schematics strikingly simple to understand. In the background, the disembodied voices continued speaking.

"Humanity, stripped of its troubling individual liberty, will take the role of the late Collectors as our servants. It is the greatest achievement your doomed species can attain."

"Never!" Shepard shouted, "We kicked your asses at the Citadel, and we've just done so again! There's room for all of us in this galaxy, and it's in your best interest to use it and stay out of our way!"

"Why do organics belie fear with arrogance? The truth of your subjugation is as obvious as it is inevitable." Shepard listened to the voices speak, and as he did so he thought he could see something, burrowed deep in the bowels of the unravelling Collector ship – it was dark, and shrouded, but it was growing clearer with every passing second, and as this Reaper – or whatever it was – spoke to him, Shepard realized that he was boring into the data, getting deeper and deeper, and the voice that was barraging him didn't like it. The voice was trying to distract him. He began to suspect that there was more to this data than just ship schematics. Buried within it, but coming clearer all the time, was something that could save all of organic life. As suddenly as he thought this, Shepard became sure of its truth. He would persist, and find the weapon that gave the Collectors – if not the Reapers – their power.

"Commander," EDI's voice broke through, and suddenly the entire image seemed to zoom back out. His mental avatar flew backward out of the ship, watching in futile agony as the vessel shrunk into the distance, and then the orange eyes were back and the hisses converged into one loud, ear-splitting, triumphant scream.

"No!" Shepard cried. He was close. He'd _felt_ it! Another instant was all he'd needed, and he would've had the secrets of the data! He tried to remember what he'd seen: glowing eyes, and a Collector ship, and...

But, like an ill-remembered dream, the harder his mind tried to clasp this information the quicker it dissolved through the cracks, until Shepard had no more recollection of what it was that had excited him so much. All he could see were the eyes. All he could hear were the whispers. He cursed, and slammed his fist on the desk.

"You were screaming strings of phonemes, Commander." EDI said, as if in justification of her actions. "I am unsure if you were speaking nonsense, or an unknown language. The speed and rhythm of your words would suggest the latter, though I am familiar with all known languages in the galaxy."

"I was _close_!" Shepard cried. "One more second, EDI! One more second and we would've had the Reapers in the palms of our hands! You shouldn't have disturbed me!"

"My protocols dictate I only speak in turn, in areas where my information will be beneficial to the crewmen conversing, or..." EDI paused – a seemingly innocent action that could have been a technological hiccup, but felt more to Shepard like an organic pause for emphasis, "a crewman's life is in danger. Your vital signs were operating at two hundred sixty seven percent. Your body cannot sustain its systems at that level for such an amount of time."

Shepard realized that he was absolutely drenched in sweat. His face and body were both hot, and every crevice on his body was damp where perspiration had pooled. Despite this, however, the room was very cold.

"I remembered your preferences, Commander, and lowered the temperature in the room drastically to combat your rising body heat. Only as a last resort did I interrupt you."

Shepard took his shirt off, and used it to wipe his wet forehead and body before casting it aside. "You really thought I was in danger?" He wasn't convinced. He was still angry with the AI for interrupting him, when success had been right around the corner – even though he now couldn't recall what that success was, or why he felt that way. "Did you think I was gonna drop dead from high blood pressure after five minutes?"

"Your physiological state was a secondary concern. Your psychological state was primary. You seemed delusional, and you stated yourself that everybody needs to be at top working shape until we escape the relay."

Shepard grunted, not liking having his own words lobbed back at him. He stripped down and looked for replacement clothes. "Well," he muttered, "I guess I may as well go check on the crew, cool off a bit."

"The crew is currently asleep. Officer Lawson gave the order."

"What?" Shepard cursed again. "Damn it. I told them all that we needed to keep our momentum going, to reach the relay!" He was overreacting, he knew. He felt tense and stressed, and he wanted nothing more than to read the data again.

"And they did work, Commander." EDI paused again. If a blue, holographic orb could look pensive, then the AI pulled it off marvellously. "Your last comment, coupled with the remark you made earlier about your blood pressure... how long do you think you were studying the Collector data?"

"Five minutes, if that." Dressed again, Shepard crossed the room to the door, but not before strapping the Omni-tool to his arm. The Omni-tool wasn't going to leave his side until he knew what to do with it.

"Commander, you sat at that desk for four hours and three minutes before I woke you."

Shepard stopped in his tracks, one step before tripping the sensor that would have opened his door. "What? That's impossible."

"Officer Lawson sent three messages up to you, each informing you about the rapidly deteriorating quality of crew productivity and asking for your decision on how to approach it. She eventually elected to allow all crew members four hours' sleep. This was an hour ago. Legion is operating Engineering in Tali'Zorah's absence, and I am handling all other functions. Obviously, this means that the ship is currently at minimum function."

Shepard sat down again at the desk, dumbfounded. _Minimum function_. That simply meant that the ship was sitting still, with EDI monitoring the sensors for incoming debris. _How could Miranda give that order? _Shepard thought. _She, of all people! How far could productivity fall for her to stop the entire ship in Omega-4 space? _"Anything else to report?" He asked eventually.

"Nothing of importance. Some of the crew experienced bad flashbacks. Yeoman Chambers attributed the spells to post-traumatic stress. That was when Miranda suggested they all turn in for the night. I suggest you get some sleep as well, Commander."

Shepard nodded, realizing how exhausted he was. His skin was still damp from the sheen of sweat that had covered it, and he felt his eyelids droop. His muscles ached, he was hungry, thirsty, and almost two days' sleep-deprived. He turned to his bed, regarding the inviting blankets, and ignoring the layer of debris that lay upon them. He let himself collapse onto the bed, and closed his eyes.

Orange eyes stared back at him from the darkness. Whispers squirmed in his brain, turning his blood cold. He thought he could hear a _scratching_ sound, and opened his eyes to look around the room. The viewport above his bed, which showcased the stars above, had been destroyed. It was covered and sealed by blast doors. All was dark and empty, but now his eyes were open, and the whispers weren't going away. He got to his feet, not knowing what haunted him, but intuitively feeling like he knew how to make it go away. "Hold all transmissions, EDI." He ordered. Then he crossed to his desk again, sat down, and opened the Omni-tool for one more attempt at the data.

* * *

><p>Garrus had left Shepard's room, and went straight to the crew deck, where his own forward batteries were located. The deck was noticeably absent of the usual Cerberus loafers – Garrus noted with chagrin that some of them were probably dead now, and the others were all gone, picking up the slack. Even Mess Sergeant Gardner was gone, presumably exercising his secondary custodial duties to their full extent. There was a lot of crap to be cleaned up around the Normandy. Like every other deck, the signs of destruction were painfully clear here. There was blood on the floors and walls, as well as scorch marks and bullet holes all over. Garrus saw one noticeably horrid splatter of blood on the wall near the elevator, where he guessed that one crewman had been hideously impaled, probably by a Praetorian. He had no idea who it could have been, and didn't care to dwell on the thought.<p>

Garrus wondered what he could do to pass the time. His area of expertise, the Thanix cannons, had been mercifully undamaged during the attack. They had required a minimal level of recalibrating from the last battle, but now they were completely combat ready. This gave him two options to pass the time: sit around, and wait for them to eventually uncalibrate themselves as they were apt to do from time to time, or make himself busy elsewhere on the ship. He knew they needed all the manpower they could get. Unfortunately, the most meaningful work for him to do seemed to be in Engineering... and the idea of seeing Tali made his heart jump in his throat. _Shepard's right, _he thought to himself, _not before we get out of here._

He was attracted to her. It was an embarrassing thought for him to have to admit to himself, after all this time, but now it was laid bare. Shepard had seen to that when he had admitted that he wasn't interested in her. Garrus didn't know when he'd started seeing her this way. It certainly wasn't when he first met her in the back alleys of the Citadel, when she had just been some stupid kid on her Pilgrimage who got into a rough spot with mercenaries. Back in C-Sec, he cleaned dead quarian pilgrims out of the gutters regularly, all of them trying to acquire gifts for the Flotilla through similarly illegal means. He'd spent almost that entire mission being brusquely indifferent to her, unable to see why Shepard kept her around.

His attraction hadn't even been when he and Shepard had bailed her and Kal'Reegar off Haestrom, though that was the first point where he had truly noticed what a capable woman she had grown into. By then, she was leading her own team of quarians in the field, doing vital research for the Migrant Fleet. The timid, but talented girl had morphed into a capable, driven woman, and she had earned Garrus' respect, but not his desire.

He supposed it was probably when they had invaded the derelict Reaper. Shepard had chosen Tali and Garrus to go along with him. _Nothing like a den of unspeakably psychological horrors to bring people closer together_, Garrus now thought to himself. The Reaper had been an absolute nightmare of Husks and Scions, with the added atmospheric bonus of getting to witness the late research teams' video logs, getting to personally watch as their minds were twisted and warped into madness, their individual selves melded into one another, until all that was left was a melted, shapeless mass of consciousness that was easily indoctrinated into the horrifying Husks.

It had been all Garrus could do to stifle his terror during the mission; back on Feros, he had seen humans warped and perverted into the monstrous Thorian creepers. That, combined with their subsequent rescue of the Thorian's asari thrall, Shiala, had given Garrus a taste of the true horrors of indoctrination. The Husks served as a stark reminder of those monsters, and the fact that their corruption wasn't just a one-off force of nature; the Reapers wanted to make it a reality. Tali, however, had kept her head during the entire derelict Reaper mission. She had used her tools to great effect, draining the shields off the Husks and keeping them off of Garrus with her distracting drone, Chakita vas Paus, enough for him to swallow his mounting panic and finish them off with his rifle. Even when she was completely surrounded, with Husks and Abominations swarming and attacking her with their brutal claws, she held her ground with her drone and her shotgun long enough for Garrus to save her, or for Shepard to pull out one of his miracles. He still remembered the moment when they stood together in the airlock, with a horde of Husks on the Reaper's hangar deck behind them, clamouring and yowling. They were both drenched in the Husks' strange white blood, breathing heavily, battered and wounded, and leaning against the airlock walls for support, but they were triumphant. They had _made it_. Yeah, that was the mission when had become attracted to Tali.

Sudden screams in the med bay brought him back to the present. There were multiple screams, all at once, cacophonic clarion calls of terror. Garrus sprinted into the bright, sterile-coloured bay, and was faced with three crewmen, all sitting upright and thrashing. Crewman Patel, the only female in the bay, was shrieking at a deafening pitch, clawing the IVs that snaked into her body off herself. Crewman Hawthorne, the always-smiling, wise-cracking man who could normally be found at the Crew Quarters dining table, now had his hands up at his face and was letting out a shout at full volume, to the point where his voice sounded like it was cracking. Most surprising, however, was the third Cerberus member occupying the room. Jacob, who had the most grievous injury of the trio and was supposed to be in a medically-induced coma, was sobbing and thrashing at the air. In sitting up, he had reopened his wound, which hadn't gotten a chance to heal completely from the Medi-gel, and a red patch was currently spreading across the sheet which covered his stomach. All around him, IV bags and medical equipment quivered as his biotic energy ebbed in his panic.

Garrus grabbed Jacob, stopping his movements before the human could do more damage to the room and himself. The soldier was well-muscled, even for his species, and Garrus had a tough time restraining the man. "Jacob! Jacob, it's me! It's Garrus! I need you to calm down!"

Jacob's screams subsided, as did those of the patients beside him. Patel was breathing deeply, her eyes wide. Her torso was exposed, saved for a strip of modesty fabric bound across her chest, and Garrus saw that her chest wound was trickling blood.

"Jesus," Jacob muttered. "I just had the worst dream!" He brought a hand up to his sweaty forehead, trying to steady his breathing.

"You think _yours_ was bad?" Hawthorne cracked, obviously trying to disguise how terrified he really was. "I haven't been that frightened in years! I thought nothing could top that Collector attacking me yesterday!" He cracked a wan, unsure smile. "Did I mention I killed it?"

"I wasn't even sleeping," Patel added. "At least, I didn't think I was. One second everything was normal, and the next – those eyes!" Garrus saw her try hard to keep her composure as she relived the night terror.

"Wait, you saw the eyes, too?" Hawthorne asked.

"Almost like the Collectors' eyes," Jacob offered. "Six of them, and bright orange!"

Something churned in Garrus' gut, at the eerie idea that all three of these people had shared a dream. At the initial sight of these three, in the throes of their nightmares, Garrus had assumed they were possessed. After that brief spell of superstition, he decided that they were all suffering nightmares, brought on by PTSD. It was a common human mental condition, he knew. He had seen it enough in the human C-Sec officers. In fact, humans' troubling tendencies to relive past traumas were flaws that almost had almost disqualified the species as a whole from joining C-Sec. Garrus was no doctor, but he thought this was somehow different.

In the brief silence given him by his three shocked companions, Garrus realized that he heard sobbing coming from the back room of the med bay, the AI core and Dr. Chakwas' temporary office while the bay was packed to capacity.

"Chakwas is in trouble!" Patel cried, moving to get out of bed.

"Stay there!" Garrus commanded the woman, striding past her toward the office. "You've done enough damage to your injury! You too, Jacob!" This last he called back to the biotic who, he correctly assumed, was also getting out of bed. The young man complied with a grumble.

The AI core door opened for Garrus, and he saw Chakwas curled in the fetal position on the floor near her office chair, sobbing gently.

"Doctor," Garrus said gently. The woman looked up. Tears streaked down her face, her hair was a mess, and her clothes were in disarray. She smiled up at him. "I'm sorry, Garrus, this is so embarrassing. A woman of my years and prowess, laid low by a bad dream!"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Doctor," Garrus told her, holding out one of his taloned hands. She took it, and he pulled her up to her feet. "I don't know what this is," he muttered to her, in a low enough voice that the others couldn't hear through the open door. "The others all had the same nightmare. You must have heard their screams. Orange eyes, and whispers." From the way Chakwas reacted when he said it, Garrus knew that her dream was the same. He sighed. "I don't know humans very well, Doctor. Are these spells normal after a mission like this one? Nobody on the original crew had this problem after the Citadel attack."

"It's... hard to say. Before now, I would have said that I wasn't susceptible to such episodes." She sniffed. "But I guess anything's possible when you spend a night in a Collector pod, don't you think?" Her large, colourful human eyes widened, mirroring Garrus' own. "Do you think...?"

"It's a side effect of the Collector pod?" Garrus finished. "No, that's not it. Jacob suffered the attack as well. He was never in a pod."

"It was a good theory," Chakwas sighed. Garrus understood her frustration. It was comforting to dismiss this as an after-effect of the Collectors' stasis. Having such a significant event's cause remain unknown was disconcerting, especially when another attack could come at any time.

"I'll tell Shepard about this. It seems like something he'd be interested in. EDI," this last was to the ever-present AI, "where is Commander Shepard?"

"Shepard is still in his quarters. He is not to be disturbed."

Garrus was tempted to tell the AI that this was important, but he knew that he would feel pretty stupid if this all turned out to be nothing. Shepard deserved his rest, perhaps more than anyone else on the ship. He would take this to the next best thing: Miranda. "Where's Lawson?"

"She is on the Combat Information Deck."

Garrus nodded, and then said to Chakwas, "I'd better go speak to her."

"I'll run diagnostics on the patients; make sure all of their levels are still good." As Garrus departed, he heard her mutter, "Hell, maybe I should do myself, as well."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: One final, not-very-important thing that should get addressed anyway - for some reason, I've written a lot of this story (including numerous chapters' worth of material ahead of this one) while under the impression that the Crew Deck was above the CIC and below Shepard's Cabin. While I think I've succeeded in going back and fixing every nonsensical elevator scene where characters in the CIC "share" an elevator, e.g. where one goes to Crew Deck and one goes to Shepard's (actually opposite directions, turns out), there might be some things that I've missed. This also means I need to fix a lot of "vent" scenes I've written. Ah, well.**

**Also, I can't be the only one who thinks the formatting in this Document Manager is frustrating. Does anybody here have any good formatting tips?**


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